Stoney Beck

by Jean Houghton-Beatty

  Overhead, the flush of the toilet, then footsteps across the bedroom floor. A soft footfall on the stairs and a creak as the girl stepped on that third stair. A few seconds later and she was in the room, her bag slung over her shoulder.

  Biddy began to rock as she gave the girl her best smile. She could afford to be cordial now.

  “I brought Sarah a get-well basket,” the girl said. “It’s from Ada, Andy, and me.” She turned down her sleeves and buttoned the cuffs. “Sarah’s not much better is she. Do you know what the prognosis is?”

  “I wouldn’t tell you if I did.” She stopped rocking and glared at the girl. “What’s it going to take to keep you out of this house? A court order?”

  The girl fiddled with her bag’s clasp. “Sarah saw me from her window, invited me up, asked me to get her medicine.”

  “Still trying to fool me aren’t you. I’m telling you for the last time. Get out of Stoney Beck and don’t come back, or else.”

  Jenny took a step backwards. “Or else what? You can’t threaten me. Ada told me Angus Thorne used to be the village doctor here. That’s why you want me gone before he gets home, because he’s the doctor my Mom sent my photograph to.” With hands on her hips, she stared down at the woman. “Soon as you laid eyes on me you gave yourself away, and if it’s the last thing I do I’ll find out what’s got you so scared. You can threaten me all you want to but I’m not afraid of you.”

  Biddy moved toward her, her face twisted with hate. “Don’t underestimate me. There’s a lot I can do to you, and if you don’t get your arse out of here, you’ll be sorry. I have an ace up my sleeve the size of Europe.”

  Jenny backed toward the door. “Why do you always talk in riddles? What do you mean by you’ve got one big ace up your sleeve?”

  “You’ll find out.” Biddy said, as she pointed to the door. “Now get out and don’t come back. If you do, I’ll call the police and have you thrown out.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t be back.” Jenny slammed the door behind her and bolted down the steps.

  Biddy watched through the door’s window as the girl scooted to her car then drove away. She took the snapshot out of the bureau and stared at it as she sat back in her chair. She’d found it in the nick of time. A bargaining chip, something to make sure the girl would be long gone before Angus Thorne got back. She rocked faster now. From her nurses’ training, she knew compulsive rocking was a sign of madness but she couldn’t stop. And anyway, it helped her to think.

  On her way back to the shop, Jenny tried to figure out what Biddy had meant when she’d said she had an ace up her sleeve. She shuddered. The woman was getting downright scary, rocking fast in the chair like that, her eyes wild and staring. Something had to be done about Sarah. She was sick and at the mercy of that woman. Thank God Dr. Thorne was on his way home. She jumped at the loud blare from the horn of the car directly behind her. She looked through her rear-view mirror and saw the line of cars trailing behind, then glanced down at her speedometer. Twenty-five miles an hour. She threw up an apologetic hand and stepped on the gas until the indicator crept up to forty-five. As she stepped out of the car at Malone’s, she looked across the common to the doctor’s house. Her grip tightened on the door handle. There was a light in the front room.

  “There’s a light on in Dr. Thorne’s house,” she said breathlessly to Ada as she lifted her apron off the nail in the wall. “Think he’s home yet?”

  Ada went to the window. “That’ll be Andy checking on things. Getting it ready.”

  Jenny washed her hands in the tiny sink in the corner and renewed her makeup. Since the day she’d told Andy to back off, he’d been cool, even though he still came into the shop. He acted friendly but distant and she’d wished a hundred times she could take those words back. If she got a chance today, she’d apologize, maybe even take the initiative, and ask him for a date.

  As she shoved her lipstick into her purse, her fingers brushed against the book of sonnets. She eased it out of her bag for one quick glance at her picture. She turned to the page where she’d kept it ever since her mother had given it to her. When she didn’t find it there or anywhere else in the book, she rummaged through her bag, finally turning it upside down and spilling the contents onto the counter.

  A jingle of the bell over the door and Andy sauntered toward her.

  “Lost something?” he asked, smiling as he looked at her things scattered in front of her.

  She shook her head and gawked at him, the little book clasped to her chest.

  “Just cleaning out your bag, ay.”

  “What do you want, Andy?”

  Her voice was unexpectedly sharp and caught him off guard. “Light bulbs,” he said. “Seventy-five watt.”

  “Light bulbs? You want seventy-five watt light bulbs?”

  He reached for her arm but she backed away. “Jenny? You OK?”

  When she didn’t answer, or move, he frowned then crossed over to the light bulbs and ran his hand along the shelf.

  She shoved her bag and its contents off to one side and stared down at the bulbs as Andy set them on the counter. She prayed he wouldn’t start a conversation, that he’d just take the damn bulbs and go so she could sort through her stuff. The picture had to be there, it just had to be.

  He pulled a ten pound note out of his pocket. “What is it, Jenny?” His voice was laced with concern. “Something’s wrong. I know it is.”

  “There’s nothing wrong,” she said, her mouth dry and gritty. “I’m cleaning out my pocket book. Do you mind?” She looked beyond him and focused on a row of hand-woven baskets displayed on top of the shelves. Please let him go so she could search some more.

  “You sure you’re OK?”

  “Yes I’m sure and why in the name of all that’s holy are you always asking me that?”

  “Well, for one thing, you’ve got that Oh-My-God look on your face again.” He lowered his eyes. “And for another, you’ve got a white-knuckle hold on those bulbs. You’ll cut yourself if you’re not careful.”

  She pushed them toward him, then stuck her clenched fists deep in her apron pockets, waiting for him to go. “Now what’s wrong?” she asked when he didn’t move.

  “Well, I don’t want to make a fuss, but I’m waiting for my change. You’re not going to charge me the whole ten quid for a few light bulbs are you?”

  Jenny’s face burned, and without a word she spun round to the cash register and rang up his purchase. When the drawer shot open, she pulled out his change and handed it to him. She folded her arms as he glanced at the money in his hands, then back at her.

  “Jesus, Andy. What is it now?”

  “Well, as much as I hate to say it, I just gave you a tenner and you’ve only given me change for a five.” He stretched his hand towards her, his eyes full of concern. “Please, Jenny. What is it?”

  She backed away, at the same time sneaking a sideways glance at her things shoved in a heap under the breath mint display.

  The bell jingled over the door and a girl Jenny had never seen before stepped inside. She was tall, almost as tall as Jenny herself. She had straight blonde shoulder-length hair, resting on a kelly green silk suit. Her skirt hardly covered her thighs, and she wore sheer black hose over long slender legs. She glided between the canned fruit and vegetables toward them.

  “Ah, so there you are,” she said to Andy in a voice that sounded a lot like the woman on the six o’clock news. She slid her arm through his, then reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “You said you’d come to the station to meet me.”

  “I did come.” Andy backed off a couple of steps. “But got the times mixed up. I—”

  She laughed a tinkling laugh as she stroked his cheek. “No problem, and don’t look so worried. I called a taxi.”

  Andy introduced Jenny to Priscilla Fortescue-Smythe. Jenny nodded and twisted her mouth into some sort of smile. Never had there been a name so suited to its owner. Priscilla barely gave her a nod, and then tugged on Andy’s arm.
“Come on, darling, let’s go. I’ve got oodles to tell you. You’ll love the sheets and pillowcases I bought. They’re the softest shade of yellow you’ve ever seen.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Andy said, flushed and obviously embarrassed as he turned back to Jenny. “Will you tell Ada that Uncle Angus is coming in tonight on the ten o’clock?”

  Jenny nodded and watched as he allowed himself to be pulled out of the shop by Priscilla. They left the door wide open and as Jenny went to close it, she was in time to see Pete, who always waited outside while his master was in Malone’s, wag his tail and trot over to Priscilla. When he stuck his nose under her strip of a skirt for a friendly sniff, she backed off and shoved her purse into his face.

  “Get him away from me,” she said as she grabbed Andy’s arm. “Get him away. He’s so disgusting.”

  With one sharp command and a snap of his fingers, Andy ordered the dog to heel on his other side, away from Priscilla. Pete slunk along beside Andy, his usually highflying tail drooping now, almost brushing the sidewalk. As they walked across the common, Jenny saw Andy’s hand sneak down and give his dog’s ears an understanding rub. In a second the tail rose again and Pete’s cocky swagger returned as he trotted along at his master’s side.

  Ada walked the length of the shop and joined Jenny at the window. “So, Prissy Smith’s back again.”

  “Who is she?”

  “A local girl, born and bred on Breckenridge Farm up in the Fells.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Aye, she knows it an’ all. Shallow as a two-foot grave though. She won a beauty contest over in Scarborough a couple of years ago and it went to her head. You’d have thought she’d won Miss Universe.”

  “She was talking to Andy about sheets and stuff, as if they’re getting married or setting up house or something.”

  Ada sniffed. “She dropped him flat after she won that contest and them almost married too. She got some kind of modeling job in London as part of the prize. That didn’t last long so she tried to get a job on the stage. All she got were a couple of bit parts. Now here she is back again. Probably couldn’t handle the big city.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Jenny said. “She sounded citified enough to me.”

  “That’s because she took elocution lessons. She hasn’t always talked that posh nor that posh name. She calls it her stage name. Talk about fifteen minutes of fame.”

  Jenny walked back to the counter and sorted through her things, still looking for the snapshot. “Have you lost something?” Ada asked.

  “Just my pink lipstick. It was my favorite.”

  “There it is.” Ada pointed to the pale blue tube near the bag.

  “Why, so it is.” Jenny picked up the lipstick and examined the case as if it were the first time she’d seen it in years. She gave the rest of her things one more fast shuffle then stuffed them into the bag, snapped it shut and stuck it under the counter. She’d seen enough to know the picture wasn’t there.

  “Do you think he’s been carrying a torch for her?”

  “If he is, he’s a bigger fool than I thought.”

  Jenny looked out the door and across to Andy’s place. A double whammy. First, she’d lost her precious snapshot and now, with the arrival of the gorgeous Priscilla, she’d lost her chance of getting Andy back. “He left without his change,” she said, her voice hollow, echoing inside her head.

  When she told Ada that Dr. Thorne was coming in on the ten o’clock, Ada said wasn’t it a blessing she’d had his favorite raspberry creams in stock.

  In between stocking shelves and waiting on customers, Jenny tried not to think about her picture or Andy, or how she’d gone to pieces that night and cried all over his shoulder. They’d gone to dinner at the Prince of Wales and he’d been real nice but little did she know he’d been yearning for Priscilla or Prissy or whatever the hell her name was. When she’d dragged him out of the shop, he’d acted so reluctant, but anybody could see it was just an act.

  While Jenny re-arranged the spices, putting them in alphabetical order, she tried to remember the last time she’d seen her snapshot. At breakfast in the Hare, she’d lingered over a second cup of coffee as she read “Come, Grow Old with Me,” one of the sonnets in the little book. She’d had the picture between her fingers when Walter suddenly appeared beside her. He asked who was in the photo and held out his hand to see it. She’d stuck it back in her bag, smiling as she told him he wouldn’t be interested. She hadn’t opened her bag again, not until she arrived back at the shop from visiting Sarah—

  As if watching a movie in slow motion, she saw herself hook her shoulder bag over the chair back in Glen Ellen’s kitchen, then balance Sarah’s basket in one hand and the glass with the medicine in the other as she went upstairs. She’d stayed with Sarah in her bedroom at least a half hour; when she’d gone downstairs, Biddy was there. She—

  Biddy!

  Jenny banged her fist on the counter. Her big tan bag would be hard to miss. That’s what Biddy meant. The ace was the snapshot. It had to be.

  Ada had gone to the bank when the phone rang. “Good Afternoon,” Jenny said into the receiver. “Malone’s Corner Shop.”

  “I’m ringing to thank you for Sarah’s basket,” Biddy said in her scratchy smoker’s voice.

  Jenny positioned the receiver between her ear and shoulder while she rang up toothpaste, Yardley’s lavender soap, and pink tapered candles for Nigel from the Bookworm.

  “Yes, well I’ll tell Ada you called.”

  “Oops, nearly forgot,” Biddy said. “I found your photo on the kitchen table, the one of your mother with that dandy randy priest.”

  “You’re lying,” Jenny said through her teeth as she handed Nigel his change. “You stole it out of my bag.”

  Biddy’s laugh was a cackle. “And you can’t tell anyone. Got you this time.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  “Your mother did it with him didn’t she. Now what’s he going to say when he finds out he has a bastard daughter.”

  “Why you bitch.” Jenny clutched the phone, at the same time glaring at Nigel who stood with his hand on the counter, leaning forward, blatantly listening.

  Biddy snickered again. “Now then, temper, temper. If you don’t do like I say, I might take it to Mass, pass it round to the congregation. The scandal could ruin him and guess who he’ll blame?” There was a long pause. “But if you’re out of Stoney Beck by first thing tomorrow, it’ll be our secret. Just yours and mine.”

  “How do I know you’ll keep your word.”

  “You don’t. That’s the best part of it.”

  There was a click of the phone then the dial tone.

  “You in some kind of trouble,” Nigel asked as he stuffed his things in a plastic bag.

  “What gave you that idea?” Jenny snapped. “And anyway, you’ve got one hell of a nerve standing there listening in like that.”

  “Just trying to help.” Nigel gave her a long dark look, yanked his bag off the counter, and stalked out the shop.

  She stretched out a hand. “Nigel, wait. I didn’t mean—” But he was already gone.

  Somehow, she made it through the rest of the day, twice giving the wrong change, then weighing out a pound of flitch bacon for old Mr. Skeldon from the cottages who told her he’d distinctly asked for gammon ham.

  “What on earth’s got into you, Jenny?” Ada asked when the man had gone. “It’s not like you to be all of a do-da. Don’t tell me you’ve got your knickers in a twist over that Prissy Smith.”

  “I couldn’t care less about Prissy Smith,” Jenny shot back. Still, when she dropped a large jar of sugar-coated almonds, glass shards flying everywhere, but thank God hitting no one, Ada suggested she’d better call it a day. Jenny ran a hand through her hair. “I’m so sorry, Ada. It’s time for my period. Sometimes I get really wild.”

  “Not to worry,” Ada said, as she reached for the broom and shovel.

  “At least let me help you clean it up.”r />
  Ada leaned on the broom handle and looked at Jenny, then at her watch. “No, honestly. You get along home. It’s almost closing time anyway.”

  Jenny took off her apron. “I’m so sorry, Ada,” she said thickly. “I’ll pay for the jar and the candy.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re just having a bad day. Go back to the cottage and put your feet up or go for a walk. If you need me, give me a ring. I’ll be there before you’ve hung up the phone.”

  Jenny backed off a couple of feet, afraid of flinging her arms round the woman’s neck and telling her everything. If she ever needed a shoulder, she needed it now. Instead she twisted her mouth into some sort of crazy grimace, muttered a quiet thanks, and before she made a complete fool of herself, grabbed her bag from under the counter and bolted out of the shop.

  For the first time since she’d arrived in Stoney Beck, Jenny dreaded going into the cottage. There it stood, all lost and lonely, off by itself at least a good fifty yards from the inn. There were hours of daylight left before bedtime, more than enough time to torture herself about being fool enough to leave her pocketbook in Glen Ellen’s kitchen.

  She shoved her hands deep in her anorak pockets and headed for the lake. Perhaps if she walked the footpath round it, which Walter said was all of ten miles, she’d be tired enough to fall asleep. Fat rain-filled clouds lumbered up and over the mountain tops. Not a good night for a hike. There might be a downpour any minute. She longed to call Andy, just pick up the phone and with a little laugh ask did he realize he’d walked out of the shop without his change. But what if Prissy Smith was there, leaning all over him, kissing his neck while he tried to be polite to Jenny, say the money didn’t matter and he’d pick it up tomorrow.

  A heron stood on a lone rock and stared into the water, its eyes focused on some unsuspecting fish. She shivered as a raw wet wind stirred up little white caps on the lake and the first big drops of rain began to fall. With a lightning jab the heron stuck his head in the water and came up with a small silver fish clamped in his bill. He swallowed it, then flew away only to glide further down the lake and land on another rock where he resumed his vigil.